


speak softly into this silence

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Getting Together, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-Series, at an ice skating rink of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: The stillness reminds Victor of that minute pause after the crowd quietens and before the music pours over the speakers, and as Victor takes his position at the center of the rink he feels potential and adrenaline well up in his chest like a familiar friend. Small wonder why Yuuri finds comfort in solitary practice whenever he gets overly anxious. The last time Victor skated in such privacy must have been before he won his first Junior Grand Prix Final. The silence is yet another gift that Hasetsu has granted Victor.





	

It's curious, the things Victor doesn't realize he misses until he's finally surrounded by them.

The ever present crowds of spectators, his fellow figure skaters, and even the reporters have never bothered Victor. The ambient noise he associates with them fill his ears the same way the music other figure skaters pipe over their headphones do – a mental focus, sounds he uses to ground himself and maintain his concentration. Victor takes the attention as a galvanizing force, one of the reasons why his competitive performances are stunning even to those who have watched him practice the same routine dozens of times before, and he can never decide if it's an innate skill he's always had or if necessity had forced him into the habit.

Yakov was and still is a good coach; his tutelage was highly in demand even when Victor was a child, but since Victor won accolades as a young figure skating genius and collected medal after consistent medal the demand has only increased exponentially. Yakov has no shortage of students and so Victor has never been in lack of juniors, watching him with awed, covetous and occasionally envious eyes.

The rinks in Russia are competitive and even Victor must share his practice space with the upcoming generation of new figure skaters, those who would inherit his legacy when – and it is a when – Victor retires from the competitive circuit. Russia has given much to its living legend and Victor knows he must give back his due; he learns to court the media and smile charmingly at his fans, the reporters, even his haters, and with the ever present tag at the end of his name, _Victor Nikiforov of Russia,_ captures hearts worldwide in his home country's honour.

He gives up his privacy, lets the world have that surface part of him partly because he enjoys the attention, and mostly because Victor knows that no one will be able capture who he is when he's on the ice, the feelings he can't put into words and can only express through his performance.

It should be jarring, then, the silence that fills Ice Castle Hasetsu, but as Victor glides over the ice, he finds that it isn't.

The rink is empty, and for once the only sounds Victor has for company are the hiss of his blades slicing through ice, the rush of air in his ears and the rasp of his breath in his lungs, cold but steady. He had left just the spotlights on, enough to illuminate the space he skates on, and the edges of the rink and the audience stands blur into darkness, giving the rink a dreamlike atmosphere.

The stillness reminds Victor of that minute pause after the crowd quietens and before the music pours over the speakers, and as Victor takes his position at the center of the rink he feels potential and adrenaline well up in his chest like a familiar friend.

Small wonder why Yuuri finds comfort in solitary practice whenever he gets overly anxious. The last time Victor skated in such privacy must have been before he won his first Junior Grand Prix Final.

The silence is yet another gift that Hasetsu has granted Victor.

He doesn't need the music to follow the rhythm, to hear the echo of a low voice singing an aria of love and longing. Even a year later the elements of the routine are sunk deep into his bones, and he lifts his face, eyes falling closed, before throwing his head back in a slow but graceful spin, his hands following the arch of his body. When his eyes open, Victor no longer sees the rink, lets his body build into a gentle momentum that bursts into a powerful quadruple lutz, followed by a quadruple flip.

The impact when he neatly lands each jump sends a jolt through him, the heavy beat of a heart in deep emotion, and although Victor never quite loses focus on what his body is doing, neither is he caught up in the minutiae of his routine. Nostalgia, yearning and hope – Victor lets those feelings channel his movements instead. It's less a performance and more of a conversation, one-sided but for the emotions his performance should inspire in an onlooker, where he skates not as a five-time World champion or a brilliant performer or beloved idol of the skating world but just as _Victor_ , a man who loves the ice and who is in love with—

When he flows out of the triple flip at the build-up of his imagined music to stretch his hands out towards the sidelines, Victor catches a glimpse of brown eyes, gazing unwaveringly in his direction. A smile flashes across his face, unbidden, and he glides back out of reach, a single thought intruding on the dreamlike trance of the performance—

_keep your eyes on me_

—and lets the perfectly executed quadruple toe loop and triple toe loop combination demonstrate the strength of his convictions, before he sweeps effortlessly into the combination spin at the crescendo of the music, the lyrics he had long memorized together with his routine echoing in his ears.

It's the first time he's ever finished this routine with a smile of genuine joy on his face.

Over the heavy pants of his breathing, Victor hears sharp metal hit ice, and smiles up at the shadowed ceiling of the ice rink, his eyes falling shut.

Here is something else Victor never realized he misses – the sound of a companion's blades skating up to him at the end of a performance. Even in practice his fellow skaters are too awed or intimidated to approach him until Victor skates to the sidelines.

Now though. Now Victor has Yuuri.

Victor tilts his head to the side. "Hello, Yuuri," he breathes, before letting his hands fall from his ending pose, straightening and gliding back gently on one foot to face Yuuri.

Yuuri isn't wearing his glasses, and although his hair isn't slicked back there's an intensity in his gaze that's reminiscent of his in-competition focus, as if he's absorbed that feeling from Victor's performance.

"That was beautiful, Victor," Yuuri says, and Victor has heard that praise a hundred times before, even from Yuuri himself, but not like this. Not with Yuuri completely unabashed about it, his eyes blazing more in pride than in awe, and no small amount of appreciation.

At any other time Victor would beam exuberantly at Yuuri. He could say _I saw you in the sidelines as I was warming up_ , or even throw his arms around Yuuri in their customary post-performance hug – Victor certainly deserves one, doesn't he? But that would be Victor Nikiforov acting, ever attuned to what the situation calls for; meanwhile, plain and simple Victor just wants to soak in the moment, let someone else call the shots for a change, and so he simply stands there and lets the small smile on his face speak for itself.

He's starting to cool down, the cold prickling against his exposed skin, and Yuuri notices, blinking once before his eyes scrunch in slight concern as Victor swipes a gloved hand across his forehead and bangs. Yuuri takes a step forward and captures Victor's free hand, his fingers warm against Victor's wrist before they slide down to lace between Victor's fingers. When Yuuri tugs, skating backwards, Victor follows, and they fall into pace beside each other, taking languid loops around the rink, their clasped hands ensuring that they never stray too far from each other.

It's a delicate, peaceful moment, and Yuuri seems content to let the silence wash over them until curiosity gets the better of him.

"You're awfully smiley tonight," he notes.

A hint of mischief curls to life in Victor's chest, and he strokes his thumb lightly across Yuuri's palm. "Well, I _am_ skating next to the Grand Prix Final gold medalist."

Yuuri's hand clenches reflexively around Victor's, and he shoots Victor a narrow-eyed glare over his shoulder. After a moment, however, he turns away to watch the ice – the way Victor can't quite look away from him means Yuuri's guiding tugs are the only things keeping the both of them from skating into the sidelines – and Victor has to strain to catch the murmured, "Now you know how I feel all the time."

The tips of Yuuri's ears, just barely visible though his hair, are flushed pink. It's _adorable_ , but Victor just squeezes Yuuri's hand and says, "What's on your mind?"

Yuuri doesn't visibly react, but then again they've spent almost every day together for nearly a year – Yuuri is used to the way Victor switches topics, his mind as swift and sharp as the blades on his boots.

"What makes you think there's something on my mind?" Yuuri retorts, but it's half-hearted at best.

Victor obliges him anyway. "It's a week since the Grand Prix Final, the Japanese Nationals are two weeks away, and you only ever come to the rink this late at night when you're worried about something. So. What's on your mind?"

Yuuri doesn't throw the question back at Victor the way he's done several times before in the past. After all, the oddities in Yuuri's behaviour apply just as easily to Victor – even more so, since Victor prefers hitting a bar or a new restaurant over the rink when he's preoccupied.

The rinks Victor is used to are far too public and too cutthroat for him to bring his personal concerns to.

He takes a firmer hold of Yuuri's hand and puts in a slight burst of speed to pull ahead, taking the lead, giving Yuuri space to sort out his thoughts.

"What do you have in mind for next season?" Yuuri finally asks.

Victor half-expects the question, but it startles him nonetheless. It is, word for word, the exact same question the reporters asked Victor almost a year ago at the World Championships.

He didn't have an answer then and he barely has an answer now, at least not a concrete one. His heart is sure of one thing, but it could be, in the eyes of many, a rather wishy-washy decision.

He can already list the people who would be yelling at him - over the phone, if not in person – for it.

"I'm not sure," he says truthfully, and then he gently steers the conversation to the point that Yuuri must have truly wanted to talk about. "What about you?"

The question has been a long time coming, Victor has to admit to himself. It's an unpleasant bit of uncertainty that should have no place between them, as close as he and Yuuri have become, and by mutual, unspoken agreement they'd ignored it to concentrate fully on the Grand Prix Series and the Final. Even after the award ceremony and the press conferences and the parties and after-parties – Phichit is a _demon_ when it comes to celebrations – it didn't seem urgent to discuss their future; Makkachin is happily ensconced at the Yu-topia hot springs while Yuuri and Victor conquer the world one competition at a time, and there are still the Four Continents and World Championships, which Victor has no doubt Yuuri will qualify for.

But they're hovering on the brink of a new era, aren't they? Victor had only mentioned the Grand Prix Final when he crashed into Yuuri's life back in April, and for all that Yuuri can be astoundingly bold and versatile on the ice Victor knows he still thrives best with a structured routine, a stable foundation that he can fall back on when his anxiety threatens to overwhelm him.

Victor has made himself the bedrock of that foundation. Six months sounds about right; _if_ Victor planned to leave at the end of the season he would want all that time to make sure Yuuri gets a new coach he deserves – Victor wouldn't accept any less.

Of course, that's relevant only if Yuuri decides to compete for another season.

"Figure skaters are only competitive for a short period of time," Yuuri says cryptically, and Victor laughs then, lets a little of his _Nikiforov_ personality filter through.

"I'm four years your senior and I'm still skating, aren't I? Ah, I guess this season doesn't count, though. But Yuuri—"

Here, Victor turns neatly so he's skating backwards to Yuuri's forward movement. They both wobble when their still clasped hands throw them out of synch, but only for an instant. The speed at which they're moving at is more of a languid glide than the sprints needed to build momentum for a spin or jump, but Victor can feel the difference, the unconscious way they adjust to each other to skate in tandem, the easy give and take of their movements.

He can understand the appeal of pair skating now, and from the look on Yuuri's face, so does Yuuri.

Victor forces himself to continue before he loses the thread of the conversation entirely.

"—you're competition-fit, you've yet to suffer any major injuries, and you have excellent stamina. You could compete for several more years, if you desire."

Yuuri's head snaps up at that, and Victor can't quite read the emotion in his eyes. There is no sign of the indecision Victor expects, however, and Victor glances briefly behind him to negotiate the curve of the rink, wondering the entire time if he's misread the situation.

"Besides," he says lightly, "The true mark of a champion is the ability to defend your title at least once. You can do that only if you're competing next season."

There's a pause, and then Yuuri laughs, heartfelt and carefree. 

Victor can count on one hand the number of times he's heard Yuuri laugh like this, and he can't help his own smile when he turns back to face Yuuri.

"Oh, I see how it is," he teases, and pulls his arm in, reels Yuuri closer by his captured hand. "You're laughing at your coach now that you have a title in hand and no longer have to listen to him – that's cruel, Yuuri!"

"No, no!" Yuuri bites back his laughter as he adjusts to their proximity, matching his stride to Victor's, but mirth continues to dance in his eyes. "Thank you for not saying that right after I received my medal. I mean, no pressure."

He slants a look at Victor and the lopsided smile is devastating from this close – Victor wants to press his fingers to the corner of it, can never tell whether doing so will make Yuuri blush or grow that smile into a full-blown smirk, sharp teeth nipping at Victor's fingertips in retaliation. 

The decision is taken out of his hands; Yuuri's smile softens, and he tugs lightly at Victor's hand, lets the drag of the ice slow them to a halt.

The sound of their breathing seems louder without the rasp of blades against ice, and Victor takes a slow, deep breath, lets the cold air fill his lungs.

Some days Victor misses Russia like a persistent toothache, but never when he's standing on an ice rink, the chill reminiscent of Russia's frigid but ethereal winters.

"You know." Yuuri's voice is soft, as if he's afraid to break the calm. "Everything you said to me about competing next season – they apply to you as well."

Victor blinks down at him. "What do you mean?"

"Your free skate program just now, the one from last year's Grand Prix Series." Yuuri draws his free hand through his hair, rucks up his bangs before letting the strands fall back messily into his eyes. Victor itches to sink his fingers into the silken mass of it, tidy Yuuri back up. "I was watching you."

"I know. How long were you standing there for?"

Yuuri studies his boots, his cheeks flushing darker than just the cold can account for, but then he lifts his head to meet Victor's gaze.

"A while. Yuuko messaged me, said that you borrowed the keys to the Ice Castle a few hours ago."

"Did you want to skate on your own?" Victor sweeps his thumb over Yuuri's hand in silent apology.

Yuuri just shakes his head, however. "I'm glad I got to see that, in person. It's the same routine, you're performing the exact same elements, but the feeling is completely different. I watched videos of your performances a lot last year to learn the routine for myself, but—" his hand tightens on Victor's, stops the gentle stroking that Victor hadn't realized he'd continued with "—you never fail to surprise me. It's selfish, but I really want to keep that for myself."

"Yuuri?"

"I understand where those who hate me for taking you away from the world are coming from," Yuuri continues doggedly, blessedly ignoring the way Victor's voice has dropped low in surprise. "I'm a fan, after all, and you're amazing. You're constantly breaking limits, you've remade and redefined yourself over the years and you come back stronger each time. You told me once that you left everything behind because you were inspired by my performance, but I think you’ve found what you've been looking for, because the way you skated just now, it was something else, it was _breathtaking_ —and I want to see more, and the world definitely wants to see more, but more importantly, I think _you_ want more from yourself."

Yuuri lifts his chin, takes a single step into Victor's personal space. "You're my coach, and I'll never regret keeping you for myself. I told you before that you're the first person I've ever wanted to hold on to—"

Actually, Yuuri had publically announced it to the world, and Victor hadn't fully understood the significance of that speech until he watched the press conference again on his phone with the captions on.

"—and that hasn't changed one bit. I'll challenge anyone who questions my right to stay by your side, but I know better than to stand between you and the ice.” He laughs softly, and it’s fond and wry at the same time. “I'm the same way, after all. My love for figure skating encompasses everything: it's given me a dream, an ambition to chase; it's opened up so many doors, and it's given me _you_. So if you want to go back to the competitive circuit, you should, and I'll support you every step of the way."

Victor's mind is, for once, completely still. He looks at Yuuri, the cold settling over them like a second skin, goosebumps prickling on his exposed arms, and all he can think of is _oh._

_Oh._

He’s clinging to Yuuri’s hand like it’s a lifeline, but Yuuri’s clutching back just as tightly, so that’s something.

The silence is a heavy weight between them, growing tense and electric-charged the longer it drags on.   

Yuuri shifts restlessly; the scrape of metal against ice is shockingly loud, and he makes a startled noise at the back of his throat. "Victor," he says, voice suddenly shaky with embarrassment, as if he’s just realized how long he’d been rambling on for. "Could you please say something?"

"I'll always love your rendition of _Stay Close To Me_ best," Victor says without thinking, and Yuuri inhales sharply.

There’s an unfamiliar expression on Victor’s face – he can feel it, but he can’t say if he’s smiling or if his mouth is slack with lingering shock. He resists the urge to touch his own cheek, raises his free hand to brush his knuckles along the line of Yuuri’s cheekbones instead, as if he could rub the incredulity from Yuuri’s expression.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Victor says helplessly. “You were wonderful. The ice has given us everything, but watching you skate reminded me of all the things I had lost sight of. I was so focused on surprising the world, in playing that role, that I forgot what it was like to be myself. To forget the audience, and to just skate however my heart tells me to.”

Yuuri turns his head into Victor’s hand, the movement a caress of its own. “But you remember now.”

“I do. But Yuuri, I don’t have to skate competitively to find that feeling again.”

Yuuri goes very still against him, and Victor brushes his cheek again, following the curve of it to sink his fingers into Yuuri’s hair, cradling the back of his head tenderly.

“What did you feel, when you were watching me earlier? What did you think was the theme of that song?”

“Love.” Yuuri’s eyelashes dip low over his eyes as he considers the question, and then they sweep up in resolution. “And hope. It was hopeful this time, instead of wistful.”

“That’s right.” Victor leans forward, presses his forehead against Yuuri’s. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, and it’s a quiet exhalation Victor feels against his skin. “Please go ahead. It’s not like I haven’t spent the past fifteen minutes spilling my guts on how I feel about you.”

Victor laughs softly. “I wasn’t being entirely honest when I answered your question earlier. I do know what my plans for the next season are, but they depend on someone else’s decision.”

Yuuri’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t ask, so Victor continues on.

“I’ll always love figure skating, but I know now that that love isn’t limited to when _I’m_ skating on the ice. Guiding you, watching you grow and overcome your shortcomings, choreographing routines that combine the best of your strengths with your own love of the ice – I’ve never been as proud of my own accomplishments as when I watched you skating at the Grand Prix Final, when you were up on that podium and the world finally saw you as I’ve been seeing you all these many months. You skate like your body is making music, and if you do choose to retire, I don’t doubt that you’ll bring that passion to your next undertaking.”

Victor has heard people call brown eyes _boring_ , usually when in praise of Victor's own eyes, the way his irises can appear blue or green or any of the shades in-between. They've obviously terribly unobservant, and Victor gives them just enough attention to be civil before he walks away. People are fascinating, with their ever mercurial wishes and wants and moods, and Victor has lived a life of personas long enough to not be fooled by appearances. He knows how deeply someone has to dig before they get a glimpse of _Victor_ , after all – it's only sensible to apply the same logic to everyone else.

Their proximity makes the air between him and Yuuri nearly unbearably intimate. But although his cheeks are flushed, Yuuri doesn’t look away, and anyone who could look into Yuuri’s expressive, determined eyes and call them _boring_ is a fool.

 _"Ai ga katsu."_ Victor has heard the phrase enough times that he can pronounce it perfectly. The Japanese media uses it frequently when covering Yuuri's competitive outings and Yuuri's adoring fanbase has picked it up – it's as much Yuuri's motto as _surprise your audience_ is for Victor. "Love wins. You're the Grand Prix Final gold medalist. So now, I'm making you a new promise." He squeezes Yuuri's hand, still caught between them, a shared warmth in the cold of the rink. "I'm going to make sure love keeps winning. In whatever way you choose to express it. And if you want me, you can keep me."

Yuuri’s eyes go wide, pupils dilating. Victor pulls back so he can study the entirety of Yuuri’s expression, but Yuuri fists his free hand in Victor’s shirt, holding Victor close, and Victor lets himself stay caught.

“So tell me,” Victor murmurs. “What do you want?”

There’s that pause again, the moment of infinite possibility before action—

“I want your time," Yuuri says, his voice resolute, "for as long as you are willing to give it to me. And I want you.”

And then Yuuri digs the toe picks of his boots into the ice to raise himself up that last inch, and presses his mouth to Victor’s.

It’s quick, a flash of heat imprinted against Victor’s lips, and then Yuuri’s leaning back, his gaze roaming over Victor’s expression, searching.

Victor has to fight his hand free from Yuuri’s clasp, Yuuri’s holding on so tightly, but he makes quick work of his gloves, teeth digging into sweat-salted leather to jerk them free, and they’ve barely hit the ice before he’s curling both hands behind Yuuri’s head to kiss him properly.

They lose track of time for a while. Yuuri’s mouth is a wonderful contrast to the cold of the rink and Victor feels impossibly warm. As much as Victor enjoys kissing, however, somewhere along the line one of them moves and the other adjusts and then they’re hugging, Yuuri pressing into Victor’s embrace like he never wants to let go, and Victor closes his eyes, turns his head to press a gentle kiss into Yuuri’s hair, content.

This too, like the question about their future, has been a long time coming, and the ease of this progression is a greater comfort than Victor ever imagined.

Languages are hit or miss for Victor – he either picks up one at near fluent proficiency or he’s complete rubbish at it – but the lyrics of a song are so intrinsic to his programs that he could recite all of them verbatim, and he leans in close now, his lips brushing against the curve of Yuuri’s ear, and lets the Italian roll off his tongue.

“ _Partiamo insieme, ora sono pronto_.”

It’s _delightful_ , the way Yuuri gives a full-body shiver, and the way his instinctive turn so he can stare at Victor puts his mouth within easy reach. Victor kisses him again, fleet-quick, before finally pulling back.

Yuuri looks dazed, but the smile on his face is soft and radiant with joy. “That’s not Russian. But it sounds familiar.”  

“It’s the final lyrics to _Stay Close to Me_ ,” Victor says, and presses his fingers to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth like he wanted to earlier, stroking over Yuuri’s kiss-swollen lower lip.

He doesn’t get the expected blush or smirk; instead Yuuri kisses his fingertips and then captures his hand anew, lacing their fingers together.

“You’re right.” Yuuri smiles down at their clasped hands. “Love really is the most perfect theme.” He tilts his head up, breathtakingly sure of himself, and says, “Will you choreograph a program about this for me next season?”

Victor’s breath catches in his throat, and it’s like the last missing piece of a puzzle falling into place – the two of them, together, and their future, set and looking brighter than ever.

“Of course,” he says, a declaration and an affirmation, spoken in a silent rink witnessed only by the ice and an audience of one – the most important one of them all. “Of course I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> The thought that inspired this fic was "Victor performs to an audience of one," but the story clearly outgrew that long ago. 
> 
> I keep thinking about this quote from Uchiyama Kouki (Yurio's voice actor): "It feels less like a matter of Victor instilling Yuuri with some genius power and more of a 'three-legged race'. Yuuri and Victor support each other, give each other what they lack--and we get to watch them change." I love Yuuri dearly but the anime is covering his growth and transformation delightfully. We don't get quite as many glimpses into Victor's head and his journey, however, and I wanted to explore that. **Edit:** Scratch that, I just watched epi7 and we get Victor's POV and him meeting his pitfalls as a coach and getting assured by Yuuri and _how perfect is this anime_.
> 
> Also, please look at the [English translation](http://blackidyll.tumblr.com/post/153297660935/yohao88-parry-repost-theme-from) of _Stay Close To Me_ , and tell me that you aren't screaming at perfection of the lyrics. The portion of the lyrics I quoted in this fic come at the very end of the song: _partiamo insieme, ora sono pronto_ /Let's leave together, now I'm ready. 
> 
> I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THESE CHARACTERS AND THE MUSIC AND EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS ANIME IS PERFECT OKAY ;A;!!!


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